To Resist Temptation
by PrincessNala
Summary: Nobody can fully resist temptation. There was no rational thought left in Sherlock's magnificent mind now. Nothing but lust and insatiable thirst for the man beneath him clouding his ability to think. Vampire!Sherlock/John


**Ok, this fic was never meant to happen. I just got inspired this morning by a prompt on Sherlockbbc_fic at Livejournal, and then a brilliant fanvid on youtube here - http:/ www. youtube. com/ watch?v=3gOmrhzguiM (without the spaces, of course :D ) and I just couldn't help myself. So instead of doing my coursework all day, I've been doing this instead. I'm so screwed for the deadline tomorrow, but ah well. I dont care :D **

**I dont know if anyone's done this before on here, so here's a Vampire!Sherlock/John oneshot****, with bloodsucking and sexytimes and all that jazz! Hope you like it, I was a little unsure about doing a vampire fic, but hey at least I got to test my smut writing abilities ^^**

**I'd like the dedicate this to the lovely InsaneMelon, whose messages throughout today has made me smile and laugh and plot world domination with her, involving our More Sherlock/John Eyesex campaign XD Dont ask haha! Thank you dear!**

**Ok read on and review for me, please? I'd really appreciate it. (ps, dont own Sherlock, never have, never will.)**

**Onwards!**

**EDIT: Aw nuts, I dont think the link's working right :/ Ok, you want to see the video, just type in 'Sherlock/John vampire' on youtube, and it's the first video that comes up by Ambrevale. Sorry, my links fail haha :)**

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Nobody can fully resist temptation. It always lingers, playing at the back of the mind, teasing and taunting and oh so sinfully seductive that no matter how hard you try to resist, the craving and pure need never fails to overwhelm you completely. And then, of course, everything goes to hell, because desperation drives you almost to the brink of insanity and it takes every scrap of willpower you have left in your body to resist the urge, to fight off the cravings that makes your head spin and your mouth water. Sometimes, you can brutally force yourself to defy it. Most times, though, you don't have a choice.

Sherlock Holmes thought he could resist. After all, he was so adept at controlling and ignoring his biological needs that he'd assumed this was just another insignificant unnecessary function to add to that list. And he'd managed to do just that for so long now. So impossibly long, much longer than humanly possible, in fact. But then again, Sherlock Holmes was anything but human.

That familiar burning ache twisted through his veins, his blood alight with fire so overpowering and intense that his pale hands shook uncontrollably by his sides, his piercing grey-blue eyes dilated and turning even sharper in the eerie glow of moonlight that bathed his slender form through the window. He'd felt thirst before, of course he had, he'd lived through so many centuries with this curse of his, but never had he felt the craving take hold with such power, such unbearable pain stabbing at his throat from the inside. Nothing could quench it, not even the horrible cold lifeless bags of red he'd stolen from St Bart's that usually helped to keep the hunger at bay. Drinking that had made his throat sear even more, just because it may have been the liquid his body craved, but from the wrong source.

And that source was right there in front of him, slumped in his armchair and snoring gently, his jumper-covered chest rising and falling slowly and his eyelids flickering slightly with REM sleep. His head lolled back against the headrest, his throat unconsciously bared. Sherlock's eyes had been drawn straight to that jugular vein pulsing lazily beneath the lightly tanned skin well over half an hour ago, and he hadn't moved a muscle since.

It was such a dangerous temptation, and Sherlock was little more than torturing himself by watching. He'd have to avert his gaze soon, or move away. There was only so much visual stimulation he could take before he fell prey to his basic urges. He wanted that throat, oh God, he wanted it so bad... To trace his tongue over the warm skin, feel the heartbeat beneath his lips, to bite down hard and drink him dry... _Oh God_...

John Watson. The only person who'd stayed with Sherlock for longer than a week, possibly the only man in existence who could put up with him and his eccentricities and still genuinely like him, despite everything he knew about him. John was special, so special and unique beneath his deceptive pedestrian appearance. But he didn't know about this. Sherlock hadn't told him what he really was. He'd never even intended to tell his flatmate at all, but soon he wouldn't have any option but to let his friend escape while he still could. So dangerous... so tempting... so... _accessible_ right now...

John twitched a little in his sleep, his throat working as he swallowed. Sherlock's mouth parted almost unwillingly, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as he felt his canines lengthen into sharp points, bloodlust rising thick and fast in his chest.

Too much... it was _too much_... and yet, nowhere near enough...

His feet moved before he even realised what he was doing, blinded by the haze of pure undiluted _yearning_ his entire body felt, drawn to the sleeping man in the chair like a moth to flame. Sherlock tried to stop himself, he really did. But for the first time in his life, he was completely powerless and could only watch helplessly as he stalked towards John Watson like the predator he was, his previous grey-blue eyes now an unearthly shade of electric blue, glinting viciously from within his skull.

Sherlock lurched to a halt directly in front of his flatmate, leaning over him as his gaze hungrily roamed over every single tiny detail of the face beneath him. That face lined a little with age, but yet full of such boyish youth at the same time, the tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes and lips from the number of times he'd smiled throughout his thirty-nine years of living. Those wonderful expressive tawny eyes hidden behind his eyelids that seemed to light up his entire face, and had captured Sherlock's blackened excuse for a heart so swiftly.

Ah, Christ! This was like going through the drug withdrawal all over again! He _needed_ this, craved it more than the air he was breathing, his skin crawling as the lust and thirst pumped around his system with every beat of his heart. God, John even smelled delicious, a warm coffee-and-medicine scent with an undertone of something woodsy and soft beneath.

With one trembling hand, Sherlock reached out and smoothed his fingers gently through the crop of mousy hair that was a colour halfway between blond and brown, relishing in the feeling of the short silky tendrils as they wrapped around his digits. One side of Sherlock's mouth quirked upwards into a small indulgent smile as he ran his hand down the side of John's face, his fingertips ghosting over the other man's soft flesh until he reached that impossibly alluring jugular vein that pushed John's lifeblood around his body. A gentle sigh left Sherlock's lips before he could restrain it.

He pressed the pads of two fingers to the shorter man's pulse, almost moaning aloud at the euphoric feeling of that divine crimson liquid thrumming against his paler skin. Alright, that's enough, he had to stop now. This was far too dangerous to continue, being so close to the person he craved the most, touching him and _needing_ him to the point of mindless desperation. Saliva welled up his mouth and he swallowed it back, flicking his tongue against one of his elongated fangs, trying to repress the excitement and anticipation slowly eating away at what little remained of his self-control.

He never had much self-control when it came to John Watson. When he'd fallen in love, he'd fallen fast and hard, much to his own shock and disbelief. He hadn't meant to let John in so far into his life and into his heart, but it was too late and there he was, just so ordinary and unspectacular and _perfect_ in every way, flaws and all. If he hadn't felt like this for his flatmate, he probably would've succumbed to this intolerable thirst _months_ ago, and torn the man's throat out and drained him completely. But these unfamiliar feelings had complicated things far too much.

Almost unknowingly, Sherlock found himself climbing onto the armchair and straddling John, his long toned thighs clamping down like a vice on the other man's hips as he held himself over his flatmate, every tendon in his slender body taut with tension as the undying hunger threatened to consume him entirely. His fingers hadn't yet left John's pulse point, and probably wouldn't for a while now. It was like an addiction to him, but far more potent than the drugs had ever been.

John's nose wrinkled slightly and he groaned a little under his breath, his eyelids fluttering as he came sluggishly back to consciousness, sleepily trying to shift beneath Sherlock's body pressing down on him before he even realised exactly what that warm unyielding weight on his lap was.

"Mmm... wha... Sh'rlock?" John mumbled groggily, those tawny eyes opening and blinking slowly up at the taller dark-haired man in confusion. "Sherlock? What are you doing?"

Sherlock didn't bother answering him, finally moving his fingers from John's pulse up to his face again, tracing one fingernail almost in reverence around the outline of the shorter man's thin lips. John's breathing hitched imperceptibly in his chest, his tawny eyes widening as he swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing in such a way that Sherlock's eyes followed the movement hungrily. The taller man swayed a little from where he was sat on top of his flatmate, leaning ever so slowly closer as his hands moved to rest firmly on each of John's shoulders, pinning him back against the armchair before the other man could even consider trying to push him off his knee.

There was no rational thought left in his magnificent mind now. Nothing but lust and insatiable thirst for the man beneath him clouding his ability to think. He was too far gone now, and there was no turning back. Unfortunately for both of them, it was much too late to stop this now.

Sherlock's intense unblinking gaze held John captive just as easily as his hands. He'd wanted to kiss John so many times before, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it, because he knew for a fact that he wouldn't have been able to resist the temptation to throw him down on the nearest available surface and ravish him right there and then, with his mouth attached at the other man's neck as he greedily drank his fill. But now what was there to stop him? It was just so enticing... _so wickedly tempting_...

So he closed those few inches of space between them and captured those sinful lips with his own, bringing both hands up to cradle John's head as he wasted no time in parting the smaller man's mouth and plunging his tongue inside to explore. A shocked sound echoed in John's throat at the unexpected intrusion, but after a few seconds, to Sherlock's never-ending delight, the good doctor hesitantly started to kiss back, meeting Sherlock's probing tongue with his own.

The dark-haired man moaned unabashedly into his flatmate's mouth, the wet heat lessening the ache in his throat, but at the same time making his body yearn for more contact. John tasted just as addictive as he smelt, and Sherlock would gladly get lost in that kiss for the rest of eternity if he could.

But then the tip of his fang accidentally nicked John's bottom lip, bringing a tiny bead of scarlet to the surface that Sherlock caught on his tongue without a second thought.

And just like that, Sherlock Holmes was lost.

He tore himself away from the smaller man's lips and both men panted for breath, John's chest rising and falling rapidly beneath him. Sherlock was shaking uncontrollably, his eyelids flickering over his dilated eyes unbelievably fast as he gasped air out between his clenched teeth, the slight coppery tang of John's blood still lingering on his tastebuds. _Oh no... Oh God, no..._

His flatmate was staring up at him with wild wide tawny eyes, another small splodge of crimson dotted in the middle of his bottom lip. His tongue darted out to wet his lips somewhat nervously, catching that tiny droplet and wiping it clean. Sherlock nearly groaned out loud at the sight.

"John..." He breathed, his baritone voice a husky silken purr that made a pleasant shiver trail the length of John Watson's spine. Sherlock's lips spread into a smile as he leaned in again, pressing delicate butterfly kisses along his flatmate's jaw, using one hand to tilt John's head to the side in order to continue his way down the other man's throat. John moved willingly, sighing in pleasure as his hands came up to fist in the back of Sherlock's thin white shirt.

The ex-army medic's heart rate had increased tenfold, the blood pounding through his jugular almost impossibly fast and hard now. Sherlock ran his tongue agonisingly slowly down the length of that crucial vein and John moaned at the feeling, trying to tilt his head even further to the side to give Sherlock more access. Not the wisest of decisions, not by a long shot. It was like offering a banquet to a starving man, but then again, perhaps that's exactly what this was.

"Sherlock, please..." John murmured, and although Sherlock knew he wasn't pleading for the dark-haired man to do exactly what he was seconds away from doing, it still sent a jolt of pleasure through his veins to pretend that he was. He couldn't resist any longer. He just _could not resist_.

Sherlock nuzzled the heated skin lovingly for a moment, inhaling John's scent greedily through his nose.

"Forgive me." He whispered into the other man's throat, regret momentarily replacing his bloodlust for a split second before it vanished once more, and Sherlock's lips drew back from glistening pearly fangs.

And he bit down hard, sinking easily through soft flesh until a sudden rush of hot coppery liquid burst into his mouth, moaning in sheer ecstasy as John cried out in pain and bucked frantically against him, trying desperately to tear the other man away from his neck.

Sherlock held on tight, clamping down on the other man's thighs with his own, his hands gripping John's head steady as the ex-army medic thrashed and writhed in his unbreakable grasp. Blood flowed thick and fast in Sherlock's mouth as he gulped down as much of the wonderful heavenly fluid as he possibly could, making greedy lapping sounds like a cat, trails of crimson spilling from the corners of his lips and oozing down the bared tanned skin of John's throat, staining the neck of his woollen beige jumper.

John was making harsh choking spluttering sounds of pain, his fingernails digging hard enough into Sherlock's shoulderblades to draw blood. His ferocious struggling was gradually weakening though, probably from a combination of exhaustion, blood loss, and the realisation that no matter how hard he tried, Sherlock Holmes would _not_ let him go.

"Sh... Sher... _Stop_, it... h-hurts..." John gasped out with difficulty, one hand twining itself into the detective's dark brown curls, attempting to yank him away by his hair, but if anything, it just made Sherlock growl low in his throat and sink his fangs even deeper, his lips pressed hard against John's skin.

At John's responding hiss of agony, Sherlock paused. He reluctantly withdrew his fangs and pulled away slightly, not caring that his mouth and chin were dripping dark crimson with the other man's blood. John was staring at him, his eyes practically double their normal size, but although there was disbelief and shock swimming around in those tawny orbs, there was none of the disgust or loathing that Sherlock had expected to see. There was a single tear sliding its way down John's cheek, and the dark-haired man felt his chest clench, realisation striking him that he'd been a bit rougher with his flatmate than he'd originally intended.

Sherlock's gaze flickered briefly from John's face to the wound on his throat, deep and dark, still bleeding sluggishly down to his jumper with thick red smears marking the place where Sherlock's mouth had been. Immediately embarrassed by his lack of restraint, the taller man raised his arm up to his own face, using the white cuff of his sleeve to wipe away the scarlet mess from his mouth almost self-consciously.

"What... the bloody... _hell?_" John panted, his voice slightly strained. Once again, Sherlock didn't reply, only this time because the question pretty much answered itself. The ex-army medic could clearly see the elongated canines glinting in the moonlight and the inhumanly bright blue eyes, not to mention all the blood that was smeared over both of them in no small amount. It wasn't difficult to figure out.

"I couldn't..." Sherlock started, then stopped. Couldn't what? Hold back? Control himself? Couldn't take it anymore, all this wanting and needing that had finally reached boiling point? All of the above could easily form the right ending for that sentence, but none of them seemed to justify what he'd done. The hot coppery taste of John was still there in his mouth, the scent of it filling his nostrils with each shallow breath he took. His burning thirst was definitely satisfied now, and instead of the previous hunger all he could feel now was shame.

Silence fell over them both for the longest moment, Sherlock with his head bowed slightly and his dark hair falling forwards to hide his carefully averted eyes, and John simply staring up at him, his attention focused entirely on his flatmate who was still straddling him, seemingly not bothered about the bite in his neck, despite the fact that it was still leaking profusely down his chest.

Suddenly there was a warm rough palm on Sherlock's face, and the dark-haired man's head snapped up, meeting the other man's gaze almost uncertainly. John smiled at him, his thin lips spreading in that familiar comforting expression as he brushed his thumb lightly over Sherlock's smooth chiselled cheekbone.

"You're an idiot." John told him fondly, then chuckled softly at the affronted expression that flickered across Sherlock's angular face. The taller man opened his mouth, fully intending to come back with a cutting retort, but he didn't have the chance to, because John had tightened his grip on Sherlock's face and pulled his head back down towards him, crushing their lips together once again.

Strangely, this kiss was even better than the first. Maybe it was because this time John was nowhere near as hesitant, and it seemed to be an outright battle as to who got to stick their tongue in whose mouth first, or maybe it was due to the fact that the wonderful flavour of blood was still thick on Sherlock's tongue but now they were sharing it, both savouring it, moaning and panting against each other's lips like their lives literally depended on it.

Sherlock's fingers were entwined in John's hair again as he tilted the other man's head whichever way deepened the kiss the most, and John's hands smoothed their way down the dark-haired man's spine. When they slipped beneath the thin white material and found bare skin, Sherlock hissed through his teeth, his back arching gracefully and unintentionally driving his hips downwards into John's. The result of that made both men groan in shock and pleasure at the incredible feeling from the unexpected contact, and Sherlock instantly wanted more.

The taller man ground his hips into John's again, pressing their groins together. Sherlock hadn't realised just how hard he was before, since he'd been so focused on _other things_, but now it was almost painful as he rubbed against the shorter man beneath him, spurred on by the responding hardness he felt against him from below.

"Oh God, Sherlock!" John cried out, arching his hips upwards into the taller man, scraping his short nails down the pale skin of Sherlock's back underneath his shirt. Sherlock grinned smugly against John's mouth, his pointed pink tongue swiping along the other man's bottom lip, cleaning away some of the crimson smears from their earlier heated kissing.

The ex-army medic's hands travelled around from Sherlock's back to his chest instead, his palms exploring the expanse of pallid flesh from beneath his shirt, teasingly ghosting his fingers over the dark-haired man's nipples, making Sherlock bite down hard on his own lip to stop himself from moaning aloud at the sensation.

"_Christ_," He breathed, his voice huskier than ever.

"Nope, just me." John grinned impishly, grinding his hips up against the taller man's at the same time as he lightly dragged his fingernails down Sherlock's chest to the waistband of his trousers. This time, the moan that erupted from Sherlock's throat just outright refused to be held back and echoed around the entire room.

He couldn't waste any more time after that. He felt that desperation once more, but this time it was entirely for John Watson's body, not just his blood. The way the shorter man had cried his name before made Sherlock crave to hear it over and over again, preferably in increasing volume and rapture. Mrs Hudson downstairs be damned. She thought they were a couple anyway, so all they'd have to suffer from her would be a few knowing looks and mischievous off-hand comments about keeping the noise down in future. Either way, Sherlock didn't care. If he wanted to fuck John into this armchair right now, then God help anyone who tried to stop him.

His deft pale fingers found the button and zipper of John's jeans with remarkable ease, and the shorter man sucked in a surprised breath.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock!"

Sherlock just smirked down at him, looking as imperious and aloof as he always did, but with a predatory glint in his intense blue eyes that could've made a lesser man come right there and then. Fortunately, John Watson was nowhere near a lesser man, but even he couldn't repress the shiver of anticipation that practically travelled up through his entire body.

The taller man unfastened John's jeans and slipped one hand inside, wrapping his fingers around the other man's hard flesh, making the ex-army medic groan aloud and buck his hips upwards into Sherlock's unforgiving grip. His head was thrown backwards, baring his throat once again, and Sherlock's eyes zeroed in on the taut tendons and pulsing jugular, not to mention the still bleeding bite mark in his throat that was almost begging to be claimed again by the detective's mouth.

John surged up to kiss him and Sherlock met him more than halfway, his hand starting to stroke the ex-army medic as their tongues battled for dominance, John's breathy little moans getting gradually louder and more frequent.

His flatmate's own hands slipped out from underneath Sherlock's shirt and started unbuttoning it instead (admittedly with a little difficulty due to how close their bodies were pressed together), but soon enough he was pushing it back from the dark-haired man's shoulders, letting it fall uncaringly to the floor and baring Sherlock's slim white chest to the moonlight that shone through the window.

But then John's fingers twisted themselves in the curls at the back of Sherlock's head once more, much gentler this time as he guided the taller man away from his lips and down to his neck instead, tilting his head to the side just like he had done earlier, but this time knowing exactly what to expect when he did so.

Sherlock's eyes darted to meet John's, his eyebrows raised questioningly. John gave him a small smile and a nod, total trust in his tawny gaze.

"Be gentle this time." John warned sternly, but he was still smiling at him. Sherlock's own lips quirked upwards, warmth spreading through his chest as he pointedly licked his pearly fangs and lowered his head the rest of the way, bringing his mouth back to the column of John's tanned neck.

He suckled at the bloodied flesh, licking and nibbling around the edges of the previous bite teasingly, the hot sharp tang of crimson tasting like the most delicious fire on his tongue and lips. John squirmed a little beneath him, his heart rate and breathing increasing again, torn between leaning his throat closer to Sherlock's sinful mouth and thrusting his hips up into that talented hand that still stroked him closer and closer to climax.

"Please, oh God, please..." John moaned on a particularly firm stroke. And Sherlock was more than happy to oblige.

The dark-haired man opened his mouth and pressed his fangs against that heated skin, pressing down so torturously slowly in a way that had John groaning loudly in pleasure until his teeth were once again buried deep in his flesh. The ex-army medic writhed at the double sensations from opposite ends of his body, panting Sherlock's name like a prayer as the taller man began to drink again, taking his time and savouring every mouthful of crimson John's heart pumped into his mouth.

It didn't take long after that. The combination of being fed from and Sherlock's unrelenting hand between his legs was too much for John Watson to handle any longer than he already had, and he came with a wordless scream that was quite literally music to Sherlock's ears. The detective himself didn't last much longer and followed him over the edge without needing to be touched, moaning his completion into John's throat as the ex-army medic fell completely limp beneath him.

After giving himself a moment to come back down from his post-orgasmic haze, Sherlock ran his tongue purposefully over the wound he'd left, knowing his saliva would stop the bleeding. John had already passed out, absolutely exhausted from his orgasm and the blood loss, but Sherlock didn't mind. He'd drunk more than he really should've, but he knew it would be alright. John would be fine in the morning, if a little pale and weak.

The dark-haired man rose from the armchair and pulled John's unconscious form up with him, wrapping the ex-army medic's arm around his neck and tugging him over to the sofa, where he then laid his lover down on the leather cushions.

Sherlock licked his fangs clean, a tender smile gracing his bloodied lips as he stared down at John Watson's wonderful features before he leaned closer and pressed a gentle chaste kiss to the other man's forehead.

For the first time in centuries, Sherlock Holmes finally felt content. Now that he had John Watson in his life, maybe his curse wasn't such a bad thing after all.

He could spend the rest of his existence with Dr John Watson right there by his side, and by God, he wouldn't have it any other way.

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**So yeah, my version of a vampire has fangs and his eyes change colour when he's feeling the bloodlust, and his saliva heals cuts. He doesn't burn in sunlight (or God forbid, sparkle ¬¬ ), he doesn't turn into bats or anything, he still has a heartbeat and bleeds and breathes, but he is immortal.**

**What d'you think? You liked it? Let me know please, I'm thinking of maybe doing a sequel to this sometime soon :D**


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